Scarlett had braced herself, convinced Ryan would punish her again. She thought she knew every brand of torment he could unleash. She was ready for pain, ready for whatever he planned to inflict.
But Ryan knew her too well. He knew exactly where to strike to make her break.
The guards shoved Tristan inside, his body already bruised and battered. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, groaning but refusing to cry out. Ryan sat in the middle of the room, lounging in the chair like a king presiding over his court. His fingers tapped lazily against the armrest, as if none of this mattered.
“If you like playing hero for her so much,” Ryan said coldly, “then you can suffer in her place.”
At his signal, one of the guards moved forward, grabbed Tristan’s hand and stomped. The sound of bones cracking echoed in the silence like gunfire. Scarlett’s chest seized; she flinched hard, the sound rattling through her bones.
Tristan clenched his jaw, sweat pouring down his face. He didn’t make a sound. Not a single plea.
“No!”